


to school, me hearties (yo ho)

by coffeesuperhero



Series: Phil Coulson; Family Man [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Established Relationship, International Talk Like A Pirate Day, Kid Fic, M/M, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/pseuds/coffeesuperhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil really needs to fill out this damn form. Ororo just wants to be a pirate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to school, me hearties (yo ho)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers** : All characters belong to Marvel and various subsidiaries. This isn't for profit, just for fun.
> 
> Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day, ye scallywags. Yar.

The form has been sitting on his desk for five days now. 

Phil is usually very good about getting things done. Phil Coulson is so good at that, actually, that the unofficial SHIELD motto is rumored to be, "If you want something done right, you get Phil Coulson to do it." 

This form is mocking him right along with that motto, he's pretty sure. 

Filling out this form is by no means the most difficult thing that Phil Coulson has ever had to do. A typical day for Phil involves, at minimum, twenty fires to put out, at least half of which are usually _literal_ fires. He's the guy who has to walk up to alien tech and ask it if it has the proper permits, something he has done on more than one occasion, and some of his shoes have the resultant scorch marks to prove it. He has it on good authority from the Directors of Legal, Logistics, _and_ Linguistics that there isn't a junior agent in the building who isn't terrified of putting a toe out of line when he's in the room. He's a tough, determined, well-respected man who always does his paperwork efficiently and on time, even though he doesn't love paperwork as much as the entire building seems to think he does. 

Phil Coulson, in everyone else's venerable estimation, would be the last person in the world to make excuses to avoid doing something he needed to do. 

And yet, here's this form, still blank after a whopping one-hundred and twenty hours on his desk. 

He takes a deep breath and picks up his pen, his hand hovering over the first line of the form.

 _Name of Student_ , it says. 

He really should not be this troubled by the prospect of Ororo's first day at school. He really had not anticipated that this would be so terribly difficult. Kids grow up, after all. It's what they do. They go to school, they make friends, it's what happens. It isn't as though he had an awful time at school himself; quite the contrary. He liked school well enough as a kid, and Ororo is a bright kid, more outgoing than either him or Clint. She'll make friends, she'll be fine. 

And if anybody hurts her, it's not like he doesn't have _options_. The biggest problem with that scenario is probably not even his own protective instincts, but rather keeping it from the Avengers. He can only imagine Thor staring down some little kid on a playground because they had the nerve to mess with the Child Of Asgard. He shakes his head and looks back at the form, which has not yet filled itself out, then reaches down to pull a brochure out of his desk drawer. 

SHIELD has known about the X-gene and Xavier for a while now-- hell, since they found Ororo, Coulson's managed to get his hands on a few files that dated all the way back to the Strategic Science Reserves-- but the official word is that there is no official word. They leave Xavier alone, and he leaves them alone, unless, of course, your daughter is a mutant. Then it's phone calls and surprise Saturday visits and trips to Westchester. 

Phil's got no problem with Charles or the school. He asked so many questions about academics and security and parental involvement that even Charles seemed like he was growing tired of the sound of his own voice, and he's perfectly satisfied that if Ororo wanted to go, she would get a good education, she would be safe, and she could see her parents whenever she wanted. Still, he's not wild about the idea of boarding school, even if it's not a garden variety boarding school, but he and Clint had both agreed that if Ororo really wanted to go, then that was the end of the story. 

But then they got home and they sat down with her and asked her what she thought about going to school there. 

"I want to go to school with Macy," she had pouted, pointing at the house across the street where her best friend lived. 

"You can't work on your powers with Macy," Clint pointed out. 

"But I do that with Uncle Thor," she said. "Can I go play now?" 

Phil looks down at the brochure once more before slipping it back into his desk.

He should have been relieved, but he's not: she's a kid, what kind of decision is that for her to make? So now he's stuck with this registration form for the local elementary school and a nagging feeling that he hasn't done the right thing, and he doesn't like that at all. 

But this is what he has to do, so he puts the pen to the form. 

The phone rings, and he sighs in relief. 

"Coulson," he answers briskly. 

"Hey, Suits," Tony says. "Just the man I need. Can we borrow that slim but sexy body of yours? I wouldn't ask, but it's For Great Science. Can you give us a hand?" 

Most of the time, Phil can think of few fates worse than an afternoon with Tony Stark. It's not that he doesn't like the guy, it's just that Tony's exhausting. But just now, if the choice is Tony or this form, he'll take Tony. 

"Be right there," he says. 

\+ 

"Daddy!" Ororo runs toward him and he bends down to pick her up. Clint watches them from the open archway in the foyer. 

"Hey," Phil calls, and Clint grins at him. 

"Hey, yourself," he says. 

"Daddy," Ororo says, pulling on his tie, "I know what I want to be when I grow up." 

His heart clenches like somebody's squeezed it, and he looks over at Ororo. "What's that?" 

"A pirate!" she cheers, and Phil's shoulders slump in relief. "Dad made me a hat, do you wanna see?" 

"Sure," he says, letting her down, and Clint chuckles as they watch her dash around the corner. 

"She's not grown yet," Clint says. He reaches over to take Phil's hand, and Phil smiles at him and leans over to kiss Clint on the cheek. 

"What do you say we all go out for lunch?" Phil asks. "We haven't been out in a while." 

Clint frowns. "I thought you said on the phone that you had some paperwork to do this afternoon?" 

"Time with the two of you is more important," Phil says dismissively, thinking as loudly as he can in Clint's direction, _Don't call me on this bullshit, Barton_ , and to Clint's credit, he doesn't, though he does give Phil a knowing smirk. 

"Sure is," Clint agrees, just as Ororo reappears, newspaper pirate's hat on her head as promised. 

"Yar!" she says, jabbing at Phil's leg with a plastic sword. "I am the dread pirate Ororo! Give me all your platoons, or you have to walk the plank!" 

"Hmm. I don't usually keep any platoons on me," Phil says, patting his pockets. 

"Doubloons, kiddo," Clint corrects gently, and Ororo stops poking at Phil with the sword. 

"What's that?" 

"A big gold coin," Clint explains. "Platoons are groups of soldiers." 

She wrinkles her nose. "Pirates wouldn't steal those." 

"Probably not," Clint agrees. "Your dad wants to go out for lunch, what do you think?" 

"Can I wear my hat? Pirates don't go anywhere unless they have hats." 

\+ 

They end up at their favorite Italian place, because it's small and quiet and the staff dotes on Ororo almost as much as they do. The waiter even talks to her in pirate for the entire meal, and when they leave Ororo gives him her newspaper hat and says that he can be part of her crew. 

On the way home, Clint decides that two o'clock on a Saturday is as good a time as any to stop in at Target for more laundry detergent, and before they can make their exit with only laundry detergent and nothing more, Ororo spots the school supplies and turns two pleading eyes toward them, and they fold like a house of cards, wading through the masses of other families to make sure that Ororo gets what she needs, but also, because they are, in a word, _suckers_ , everything thing that she wants. 

Buying her school supplies means that she will have to eventually go to school, but somehow this activity is less threatening than the stark black and white form he has to fill out that says his daughter will be spending large portions of her day in the company of strangers. 

Two hours later, Ororo happily walks to the car between the two of them, her arms wrapped around her brand new backpack, excitedly telling them how she can't wait to start school, and he feels a little better about turning Xavier down for now, but a little worse about the damn form, and he doesn't say much the whole ride home. 

"I'm around when you're ready," Clint says, as Ororo skips up to the front door ahead of them. 

"Thanks," Phil says, sighing. 

\+ 

Before dinner, Ororo drags Phil out into the backyard next to the deck, which she has declared to be her pirate ship, and explains in no uncertain terms that he has to be the "soldier guy who tries to arrest the pirates" and also that he has to "do the funny accent," or he's doing it wrong. 

He's really, really bad at British accents, but he does it anyway. 

"Okay, Ro," Clint says, interrupting their game of Pirates & Soldiers. "I need to borrow your dad for a second." 

"There is no dad here, good sir," Phil says, in what has to be the world's most terrible British accent, but Ororo had insisted that he try, so he keeps at it. "Only Philip Coulson, Lieutenant in her Royal Majesty's Navy and enemy to pirates everywhere." 

"And who might ye be?" Ororo demands, hands on her hips, scowling up at Clint. "Yar." 

Clint, Phil notices, is trying really, really hard not to laugh, and just when Phil thinks that's it, he's going to crack, Clint takes a breath and scowls right back at her. 

"Arr, I think ye know who it is that I be," Clint growls, in a surprisingly good impersonation of a bad television pirate. He rushes forward and picks Ororo up, and she squeals with delight as he announces, "It is I, Deadeye Barton, Scourge of the Seven Seas, and I have come to steal yer treasure!" 

"Shiver your timbers!" Ororo shouts, giggling and whacking Clint's shoulder with her plastic sword, and Clint laughs like a maniac as they run around the yard, or, if you prefer, the high seas. 

Phil watches them for a minute before he sets in after them, enjoying the sound of their laughter and thinking about how much he'd miss it if she went away to school. Not for the first time, he hopes that they're doing the right thing for the right reasons, but he puts it out of his mind for the moment. 

"All right," he shouts, trying the accent one more time. "Lieutenant Coulson is on to you, pirates!" 

\+ 

Much later, after Ororo is in bed, Phil makes his way back into the kitchen to help Clint with a batch of late-night scones. 

"What did you need?" he asks, measuring out flour and dumping it into a bowl. 

"Hmm?" Clint asks, as he eyeballs the expiration date on the milk carton. "Oh, right. Tony called: he mentioned that you left your raincoat in his car." 

"Oh," Phil says, aiming for nonchalance. "That wasn't really that important." 

"Bullshit," Clint laughs. "One, you don't leave shit in people's cars. Damn, Phil, I've seen you run ops that would make most people's hair turn white and remember to collect a piece of your tie afterwards. Two, you don't do shit with Tony unless you owe Pepper a huge fucking favor, or unless the Director's riding your ass. And definitely those two things don't happen in combination with you avoiding paperwork, so: everything okay?" 

"I-- I'll be right back," Phil says. "I just need to get something from my briefcase." 

He trudges up the stairs to his office, his feet feeling heavier with each step. He _really_ is not ready for their baby to go to school. They've barely even had a year with her, and soon enough it'll be school dances and _dating_ and _the prom_ and graduation and then who knows what she'll want to be, or how far away from them she'll have to go to do it? Westchester is far, but Phil of all people knows just how wide the universe really is-- Thor's drawn that damn diagram at least eight times now. He sighs as he flips the switch to turn on the office lights, and he sighs again when he unlocks his briefcase, grabs the paper, and heads back downstairs. 

"I need you to do something for me," Phil says, placing the form on the kitchen counter. "I need you to refrain from mocking me when I tell you what it is." 

Clint raises his eyebrows. "Why, Philip J. Coulson," he says, propping his chin up on one hand. "Have I ever mocked you for any of your _requests_?" 

"This isn't about sex," Phil says, and Clint smirks. 

"I know, I'm just being a jackass. What is it?" 

"I need you to fill out Ororo's kindergarten registration form," Phil says, grudgingly, slowly. He slides the form over to Clint. "I tried." 

Clint looks down at the blank form. "You tried, huh." 

Phil grimaces at the form and then looks back at Clint. "What if we made the wrong decision?" 

"Hey, it wasn't just our decision," Clint reminds him, picking up the pen. "You know that. She decided too. We didn't want her to go yet and she didn't want to leave." 

"She's five years old, how does she know that she doesn't want to go to Xavier's? For god's sake, Clint, her life's ambition at the moment is Pirate." 

"She doesn't know," Clint says, painstakingly lettering the words, _Barton-Coulson, Ororo_ in the space for _Name of Student_. "Look, Phil, the way I see it, it's like an op. You make the call that you make, and you deal with the consequences. We all made this call, and now we're gonna live with it. Nice thing about this is, we can make a different one later without too much of a mess. Charles isn't going anywhere, and if somebody tries to make that happen, I know a bunch of people who'd raise hell about it. So. We made a call, and here we are. Simple as that, baby." 

Leave it to Clint to make this make sense by using a work analogy, when both of them know that there are plenty of days when work makes no sense at all. 

"This is a switch, isn't it," Phil sighs. "When we started this, you were the one in a panic." 

"And we talked about it, and I felt better," Clint reminds him. "Do you?" 

"Moderately," Phil grumbles. He crosses his arms and watches Clint continue with the form, penning, _Pepper Potts_ , _Darcy Lewis_ , and _Doctor Jane Foster_ on the lines for _Emergency Contacts_. Phil wordlessly pulls out his phone and hands it to Clint so he can look up the phone numbers, and Clint hands it back when he's done, but instead of letting go and going back to the form, he holds on to Phil's hand for a second, his eyes searching Phil's face. 

"I know you told yourself you were gonna be cool as a cucumber about this, but we both know you're a big ol' marshmallow and we might as well just admit that in two weeks, we are going to drive up to that elementary school and our daughter is going to get out of the car with her My Little Pony lunchbox and her Batman backpack and then for the next several hours, she is going to be alone with a bunch of strangers. And some of them will be nice and some of them will be dicks and we can't do a damn thing about it. And that will suck, Phil, but we can do it." 

Phil narrows his eyes and searches Clint's face for a moment, then leans back and says, "You already scoped out a place where you can keep an eye on her, didn't you?" 

Clint grins and puts the pen to the form again. "Hey, I never said _I_ was gonna be cool about it. Now, what the hell do I put for _occupation_?"

"Global security specialist," Phil says, not even cracking a smile, and Clint laughs out loud. 

"Good game, boss," he says, shaking his head as he writes it down. "Good game." 

"Thanks," he says, when Clint pushes the paper back at him. 

"You want me to drop it off, or you got this?" 

"I got this," Phil says, and for the first time since they went out to Westchester, he feels like he finally does.


End file.
